The Field Reports of a Victorian Sontaran
by Pipwolf
Summary: BOY! THIS IS NOT A DIARY! THIS IS A COLLECTION OF FIELD REPORTS! ... These humans are absolutely despicable on this planet. All the better that I'm recording this information of events from my stay for the Greater Sontaran Empire.
1. Chapter 1

It was barely one month in my employ under Madame Vastra that saw to the unveiling of a traitor within our ranks.

By then, I had accustomed to the docile planet of 'London', though Madame's boy companion claims the planet is called 'Earth'. Either way, this planet will be blown to smithereens when the Greater Sontaran Empire finds it.

It was on a rare occasion that I was allowed to accompany Madame and her boy companion on a 'case', as they called it. A 'case', as I've found out, is no threat, and cannot be dismembered with automated splicers.

Out in the filthy alleyways where some humans call their home, Madame Vastra and the boy cornered this other human. Female, by my judgement.

"Parker? What on Earth are you doing here?" asked Madame. Personally, I would have destroyed the puny human first before I started asking questions. Nevertheless, they continued.

"Either way, you're cornered now. Spit it out—what're y' doin' 'ere?" the boy demanded. I've yet to question why his voice sounds so feminine...possibly the side-effects of disliking war.

The cornered human seemed to split into two. Upon further inspection, it was holding another body, seemingly unable to speak.

"M'a garrotter, ain't I? I's a thing fer us cabbies t' be garrotters, innit? Thought, why not? Easy bit o' money, an' they can't even scream when yer nabbin' 'em!"

I, at this point, was struggling to decipher what this expendable being was trying to tell us, but it seemed the boy understood. And the Mistress. It was hard to tell. My patience was wearing thin, and I couldn't help but ask.

"Shall I destroy it?"

For the first time on the planet London, Madame Vastra said 'Yes'.

The chase was reputation-offendingly short, and I never realised just how pathetically weak human bodies are. The endothermic-X grenades barely finished before her body was a pitiful pile of ice shards on the ground. Shame, I was saving my voltage harpoon for the occasion. Nothing beats the feeling of wrenching your victim from their location with a fully-electrified harpoon! Well, apart from watching them dissolve to nothing in acid...or painting the world red with their blood with the use of grenades, or setting them on fire to shoot them down with laser bunnies...the list continues.

Ashamedly, my nursing skills also had to be put to use on that night. The victim of the garrotter—now confirmed to be called Parker—had lost his (or her?) voice due to pressure on the larynx. I will not disclose method of treatment; such a statement would destroy all honour I ever had.

I later found out what these so-called 'garrotters' are. They temporarily render their victim mute by crushing the voice box in-between their fists. Without the ability to call for help, the victim's possession are taken, as is, in most cases, their consciousness. If you ask me, garrotters are cowardly pests that this planet must be rid of. Kill your victim, for a start! Finish the job! And wallow in their cry for mercy! Let the whole world know that you are over-powering another being for your own greater glory!

Shortly after that, I was appointed to be a 'cabbie' for Madame Vastra and the boy. My only comrade is the horse, and its navigation skills are awful considering its occupation. They don't make great conversationalists over grenades either.

However, they are very tasty. Humans don't appreciate the luxury of horse meat; they say they're not for eating. They prefer pork, or beef. Why, a young lad in the market a day ago was offering to sell me horse-meat, and was selling it off as beef! He didn't know that the offer was to my benefit, not his!

Ah, but I am digressing now. Time to sign off; it's grenade practice tomorrow!

**Soldier's Footnotes:** _As my duty as a soldier demands it, my work must be of highest quality that I can muster. Feedback from fellow soldiers is the most efficient path to create field reports of the highest quality._

_As a soldier, memory was not a largely improved gift that was bestowed upon us. Therefore, it is suggested that teammates would give 'trigger words', as these humans call it, to aid in the formation of another field report. Who knows, the right word could lead us to a greater battle!_

**Human's Notes:** _Bonus points if you picked up on the horse meat reference! Anyway, no-one else seemed to be doing a Strax POV fic, so here I am. Hi. As Strax mentioned, trigger words and reviews are most welcome. I am genuinely enjoying writing these, so all's good!_


	2. Day-to-Day Life

It has occurred to me that a report on what the humans call 'day-to-day' life may be essential, especially if the enemy attempts to ambush us within a routine. They'll never see us coming!

It has to be said, the Madame and her boy are terribly boring. There's never any bloodshed, declaration of war or artillery drills. Unless, of course, they are arguing, but that either ends in the boy huffing off into the human room of food preparation, or the Madame attempting to 'eat' the boy. At this, I must comment. If I was to attempt to eat another being, the mouth is certainly not where I'd start.

The closest I get to combat is through watching Madame and the boy's training sessions. Whilst the lack of firearms is most frustrating, Madame's skill (and the boy's, I suppose) with the sword prove her to be a worthy opponent. A worthy opponent that I will hopefully obliterate on the field of war!

Madame allowed me to join in on a session once: I was instructed to fire upon them with the laser-cannon, only to have her deflect the projectiles with her sword. I have yet to decide how I feel about this.

The nights usually take two routes: a night at home, or a night out on a case. Strangely enough, I am forbidden to join in on these cases unless told otherwise. Clearly, the Madame is asking for defeat in battle.

Nights at home are far too quiet for my liking. The Madame and her boy spend their time in the 'library' or the 'drawing room', where they either read (a skill I am slowly picking up) or writing (according to the boy, my 'handwriting' is atrocious. After much thought, I have concluded this 'handwriting' that spoils my reputation so must be destroyed, but I have yet to find it). Occasionally, the Madame attempts to eat the boy, which leads to one of them dragging the other upstairs, only for screams to be heard shortly after. It still confounds me as to how either of them is still in one piece when the morning comes; didn't one of them obliterate the other during the night?

During the day, I am mostly free to do as I please. The boy has appointed some of his duties to me, some of which are rather intriguing. Why must dishes be washed? Why not destroy them after they've been used, and purchase new ones, clean and ready for war?

Of course, my bimonthly visits to the land of 'Glasgow' are what keep my soldier's blood boiling. I have met a pleasant human there by the name of 'Archie', and his strange way of speaking while throwing out insults is amusing, albeit difficult to decipher at times. I believe Madame allowed me time off to Glasgow to 'give her a break', yet I recall her once saying to the boy (behind a closed door, I am disgusted to add) that she wished that I had 'never discovered that place'. Humans and lizards, so many unnecessary, complicated emotions. A complete waste of time, in my opinion.

**Human's Notes: **_Did I ever mention that I wasn't planning for any of these to be particularly long? Strax's attention span doesn't go that far, nor does mine. _


	3. She's Getting Under My Skin

It was a simple trip up onto another planet, he said. The Doctor then proceeded to ramble on about some things I cared not for, but he did prod me in the head several times whilst labelling me as 'potato'. Personally, I was hoping that we would capture the planet and force the natives into submission, but he said the visit was for 'fun'. We Sontarans know no concept of '_fun_'! How dare he offend my honour!

The last thing I remember before the world going black (temporarily) was the Doctor's battleship jerking about violently. I suggested it was a major malfunction, but I was thrown backwards in the force. I awoke with the Madame and the boy looming over me (most uncomfortably intimate, I must add), saying that I had been knocked out in-flight. Unfortunately, it was not fatal.

The world outside was remarkably similar to our planet of 'London', but considerably brighter. Even the Doctor seemed a little deflated as he strode out, labelling the world as 'parallel' and 'seen it, been there, done it'. However, I wanted to purge this world of its filth, watch the blood run down the streets and drag it under the territory of the Great Sontaran Empire. The best way to go about this was, of course, bring down the most powerful being on the planet, and then force the inhabitants to their knees.

My common sense told me (the boy often said that I have no common sense. Of course I do! _All_ Sontarans are created with common sense! It's simple: war. How difficult can that be?) that the most powerful being would be positioned in the tallest structure, and that meant that the pure silver tower up ahead would house my first victim of this planet.

I heard the cries and angry shouts of the Doctor, Madame and the boy behind me, but this was a new planet, with new opportunities, and I had to regain my honour! I've been a nurse far too long for me to even _die _honourably (it's almost impossible _not _to die honourably, according to Sontaran laws)!

I stormed into the tower, creating cries of terror and fear from the puny beings around me. Oh, how long it's been since I had wallowed in the sound of terror! The technology on this planet seemed to be impressively advanced (excellent, we can pillage this technology when the civilians are in our mercy!), as the next thing I knew, I was seemingly at the top of the tower, as were the Doctor , Madame and the boy.

"Strax! What have I told you about wandering off?" Madame Vastra hissed. I grumbled, wishing that they only understood the glory of conquering other planets. What was wrong with them?

"So, intruders on my planet? And...A human...How very intriguing," drawled a voice coming from the stairs up ahead. So, it seemed we weren't at the pinnacle, but the floor underneath. It seems the enemy is too cowardly to meet their end immediately!

"No, how...?" asked the Doctor, apparently to no-one in particular as we neared the top of the stair case. Nevertheless, I asked if he needed my assistance.

"Shall I destroy them?" I asked helpfully.

"Shut it, Strax," the boy replied. How very rude, I was trying to help!

"Oh, a Sontaran's in the gang. Haven't seen one of them in years. 137 years, to be exact. Been inside one; wasn't comfortable at all. Too clunky, no grace at all." I couldn't determine what gender the voice was, but I think it was a female.

The room at the top was completely white, and seemingly lit from every surface. At the far end was a circular frame with a small tank underneath it. Held by small pegs dotted in the edge of the frame was...skin?

"Had a bit of a makeover, haven't you? Doesn't suit you, to be honest. But I like the circle thing," said the Doctor. He had one of those dark looks on, like the one he permanently wore during his depressed stay on 'London'.

"Hmm, I'm not the only one who's had a makeover now, am I? A bowtie though? Really, I expected better of you, Doctor."

"Who is she, Doctor?" the boy asked. Ah, so the circle-thing _was_ a she! I knew it!

"This-" he pointed accusingly at the circle, "-is Lady Cassandra O'Brien dot Delta Seventeen. And she shouldn't be alive."

"Now that we are acquainted, now shall I destroy it, sir?" I offered again.

"No Strax," he replied darkly, slowly approaching the circle. "I must say, Cassandra, you've never looked worse."  
>At this, I must disagree. The circular frame was holding a piece of skin with eyes and a mouth implanted in. The main piece of skin itself consisted of smaller, irregular pieces of skin, all stitched together neatly. Words cannot describe my awe. The battle scars on this 'Cassandra' were inspiring. Or even better, they were the flesh of her enemies sewn onto herself. Or a bad accident with motion-sensitive drill-blades.<p>

"Would you accept the honour of being destroyed and be mounted upon my trophy wall?" I asked her. Behind me, I heard the Doctor quietly ask the Madame if I actually had a trophy wall, which she confirmed as well as saying it 'was the only way to keep him quiet'.

"Strax, shut up fer a sec. What are you?" the boy asked the skin. Cassandra smiled up at her, the stitches and scars shifting around her mouth.

"I am the last pure human."  
>There was a look of confusion, anger and bewilderment from the boy, who retreated back to Madame. The Doctor continued staring menacingly at the piece of skin.<p>

"So what happened to you? Your mind died, and so did your skin. In fact, you willingly died."  
>"Can I <em>please<em> destroy it now sir?"

"This is the last sections of my skin. All stitched together, a little bit from everywhere. Retrieving my mind was no issue seeing as it had no physical form in the first place. As for the 'willingly' bit...seeing my old self again reminded me how much I'd left out in life. Yes, I was an aristocrat, but I never _ruled_."

This conversation was really testing my patience. Too much talking, not enough bloodshed. When could _I_ finally get to rule this planet?

"However, Doctor, I've been here too long. I've been thinking back to your words on Platform One; I've finally come to the terms: everything has its time, and everything dies."  
>I looked up at the Doctor, who looked somewhat suspicious. I, myself was confused. This is no glorious way to die! Did she want a glorious, blood-stained death? I could easily assist.<p>

"However, I can't leave this planet leaderless. I've not built a beautifully pure human race for it to be thrown away, and I had a feeling you'd have one with you Doctor."

I noticed that the boy had held onto Madame just a tiny bit tighter than usual. Pah, cowardice.

The Doctor stepped even closer to Cassandra. I still couldn't see why this Cassandra was still alive. After all, as far as I could see, she was absolutely defenceless and of no significant use.

"And what's wrong with these so-called 'pure-humans' you rule? Why not elect one of _them_ to rule?" he growled.

The piece of skin smirked.

"Reveal your battle-plan, girl!" I barked. Did I mention I had next to no patience?

"Doctor, you always choose your companions wisely, and for a reason. I need a strong leader, none of those sheep down below. They follow instructions without question—no character whatsoever."

At this point, I think I actually caught on.

"You will NOT take one of MY comrades!" I boomed, readying my standard-issue laser gun.

"You will not take Jenny," the Doctor added, at the same time, pushing down my gun.

The Cassandra skin ignored us all, instead talking directly to the boy.

"Rule this city below. It can be all yours. Be like me: pure. Leave these impurities behind, have what I have."

At this, both the Madame and the boy stepped forward. They talked at the same time, but what managed to gather was something along the lines of the Madame snarling "Over my dead body, you bi-" and the boy shouting "How dare you call my wife an impurity!"

"You're married? To this lizard? Tsk, never mind Doctor, I need a _pure_ h—"

The skin thing never finished her sentence, as the Madame and her boy tore it apart with their swords.  
>"I wanted to destroy it!" I argued indignantly, even as the last sections of skin fluttered to the ground. With a hiss, the Madame smashed the tank holding the skin's brain. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.<p>

The Doctor looked a little odd at this point, even for his standards. He seemed to be standing absolutely still with his mouth opening and shutting periodically. Perhaps he was asphyxiating?

"Gawd, what a bit—..."

The boy's speech blanked out in my mind as I focused on the skin littering the floor. Then, the best idea since sliced mines came to me.

"Doctor...Madame...boy? Would it be acceptable for me to stitch the remnants of the Cassandra into a chair?"

**Soldier's Footnotes:** _With thanks to soldier artsoccer, who provided the trigger words 'comfy chairs' and 'b****y trampoline'. May we meet on the field of war, where I will obliterate you for the Greater Glory of the Sontaran Empire!_

**Human's Notes:**_ Strax isn't the most descriptive POV to write in, so if it seemed a bit dry, that's Strax for you. _


	4. Sherbet Fancies and their Effects

It did not take me long to discover that the human confectionary 'sherbet fancies' are no threat at all. The incendiary darts had the most amusing effect on them, but no, no threat at all. On the contrary in fact; they are present to surrender their bodies willingly to nourish more dominant species—Sontarans. The boy laughed this off (as he does in the manner that apparently endears her to the Madame so), saying the humans here invented them for their own consumption.

Upon further testing (details will not be inserted lest the boy choose to view these files), it seemed that these 'sherbet fancies' had more potential than the pathetic human body could ever hope to unlock (this, of course, has been tested several times). The lust for war is heightened even further than usual, resourcefulness is increased, as well as creativity. Whilst many fellow Sontarans out there may think the last point is irrelevant and a waste of energy, I can assure them that several feline mammals in the native territory have met their demise in more glorious ways than they could ever hope to witness.

For some reason, the boy and the Madame dislike my consumption of these sherbet fancies. I suppose I can understand why the boy would hold a grudge, as they are, after all, his, but the Madame says it makes me 'hyper'. After researching the meaning of 'hyper' in a dictionary (the holy human book of the true meaning of words), I declared war on Madame Vastra for tarnishing my reputation. To avoid tarnishing it further, I will briefly conclude that it ended in a miserable defeat.

I am now banned from exiting the house whilst under the influence of sherbet fancies. Apparently, I once caused havoc around London, and Madame had to drag me into the sewers to stop drawing attention from the puny citizens.

And so the boy continues consuming his sherbet fancies, oblivious to the greater potential they hold. Until I can decipher this planet's system of currency, I'll have to keep smuggling them from him.

**Human's Notes:** _Sorry, it is a tad bit short. So, how was that? Want to see Strax deal with something else? Please leave suggestions and/or reviews, if so!_


	5. SONTAR-HA!

**SONTAR-HA! SONTAR-HA! SONTAR-HA!**

It's been exactly 27 times the boy has asked me what that means since the beginning of my stay. The answer is simple: it's a war cry. It echoes in our blood, roars on the battlefield and resounds through the enemy. It should be the motto of the forseeable universe!  
>I've attempted to persuade Madame and the boy to also take up a war cry as well, preferably the Sontaran one (I suppose they have earned the right to do so), to boil the enemy down to a bag of quivering bones when the event arises. Madame has this hissy sort of cry, which isn't intimidating, it's...<em>creepy<em>. Not for me of course, no! Sontarans are never scared in the face of danger! We _welcome_ death! **SONTAR-HA! SONTAR-HA! SONT-**  
>The boy has just shouted at me to 'keep it down or shut up'. He clearly does not understand the importance of field reports, even if they are past 'midnight', allegedly the hour of night that witchcraft is strongest in the air, according to the humans.<br>Many a time I've sat guard on the roof, scanning the skies for these 'witchcrafts', but nothing has appeared. However, I think I keep falling victim to their enchantments, as every morning after a 'witchcraft watch', I have somehow ended up at the front of the house, on the ground. And I have the most awful headache that should be allowed before death ensues.  
>Now, I use some of my nights deciding my next move upon my arch-nemesis. The Moonites. There it lies, silent in the sky, not even <em>trying<em> to reply to my war cries. I planned to keep up my war chant against it all night for one night, only to be dragged off the roof—by the ear—by the boy, and for Madame to ban my cluster snap-traps. Of _all _the things to ban from me, it had to be my cluster snap-traps. Why, if it wasn't for those, the human room of food preparation ('kitchen', for short) would be infested with tiny pests known as 'rats'.  
>I think they're ungrateful for the work I do for them. Every morning, I scout the area for intruders, any of which, '<strong>SONTAR-HA<strong>!' will be the last thing they hear. This simultaneously lets the household know of my glorious victory which, I personally think, is quite selfless of me.

**Soldier's Footnotes: **_Whether it was intentional or not, soldier QueenOfBeasts provided the stimulus for this field report. Of course, war cries are our very life-blood, so forgetting this is nigh impossible. I look forward to slaughtering you on the field of war, soldier. SONTAR-HA!_

**Human notes:** _Hmm, these stories are shrinking. I don't like it..._

_Any trigger words/reviews? Please say so, I don't bite! Most of the time._


	6. The Great War of Chess

Left a bit...and...FIRE! The white, horse-shaped piece bounced off the board and abruptly burst into flames. Ah, my trusty laser hand-cannon. Never failed its duty.

"**STRAX!** That's the 5th bloody piece now! What the 'ell am I goin' t' _do_ with you?" the boy bellowed at he. He had turned a strange shade of red that the Madame seemed to be attracted to, but he seemed angry at me. What had _I_ done? I asked just this.

"You _move_ the piece, Strax! When I say you _take_ another piece, you _move_ your piece and take my piece off the board _gently_. You do NOT shoot it off!"  
>"But this is a game of war!" I argued back, clearly frustrated. Who'd heard of a war without grenades, lasers or firearms? The boy seemed to be really irritated now, but I still couldn't see why. He'd only been sat here for 3 hours, teaching me this special type of war game of 'Chess'. It seemed that the War Plains of Chess were fresh and not bloodstained, ready for battle, with the varying soldiers of war poised to strike. However, I did not understand why the different pieces, which all were soldiers, had different roles. In a Sontaran clone batch, we are all alike, and we are all of identical capability. There is no soldier that can only move horizontally and vertically, or just diagonally, or just one step at a time. Nor did we have one soldier where, if they were to fall in combat, the war is lost. All soldiers embrace death! We do not fall if our comrades do, even if we look forward to our death!<p>

I tried to question the logic in this to the boy, but he just kept saying that they were 'the rules'. I say 'the rules' need a good Sontaran beating! Solar –powered fish should do the job. They'll only be incinerated to a meagre pile of dust, so clean-up will be effortless. I've had my share of clean-up duty on Sontar to last me 5 lifetimes (considering we Sontarans usually don't last long).

What was this strange rule of warning when your enemy was under threat as well? Just obliterate them on the spot! Don't give them a chance! Again, 'the rules' said otherwise.

"No Strax, you can't move a piece wherever you like..." the boy wearily said, tugging the wooden piece from my fingers and returning it to its previous square. "Thought you'd be not too bad at this, sayin' you're a tactician an' all..."

"All Sontarans are tacticians!" I argued. What didn't this boy understand about us Sontarans?

"Well, you're clearly not that much of a tactician, or you would have noticed that your queen is under threat from both of Jenny's bishops," said Madame Vastra, who had seemingly floated into the room to settle next to the boy on his seat.

I stared at these bishops, both of which were apparently threatening whichever piece was my 'queen', before looking up.

"What does a 'bishop' do again?"

The boy just groaned into the Madame's neck.

**Soldier's Footnotes:** _An anonymous soldier suggested the theme of the boy trying to teach me a human game, or the prospect of me becoming an 'uncle'. Is this a type of evolution? Either way, may you one day reveal your face, anonymous soldier, so I may obliterate you on the glorious fields of war!_

**Human's Notes:** _Sorry about the italics overload at the beginning! I'm personally a bit dubious about the whole Vastra-Jenny child thing, and Jenny even considering Strax to be a 'brother', which is why I chose chess over, well, that. Thanks anyway, anonymous! _

_Got a request? Please let me know, or leave a review instead!_


	7. The Chandel-Ear Incident

Several days ago, a resounding blast from my grenade practice led to the downfall and ultimate obliteration of the 'chandel-ear' in the main battle entryway.

Despite the Madame's several attempts to calm him down, the boy flew in to a (rather impressive) rage. Colour change and all. Even now, I don't understand how these humans can feel so strongly about inanimate objects; it's not like the said item was even sentient... (Was it? I will perform a thorough inspection of the house for any invading 'witchcrafts' after this report. Or I would, if the boy hadn't locked me in my room and Madame hadn't temporarily confiscated all my tools of war).

I studied this fallen 'chandel-ear', and, despite its originally complex structure, realised it was actually a very simple contraption. After several tests, I deemed it useless as a weapon of war, which seemed obvious after the boy claimed it had a decorative function. Pah, humans. Only _they_ would waste their puny, expendable lives making decorations that serve no war purpose.

As a soldier of duty, I felt I needed to repair the damage done to my ranks, no matter how petty. Therefore, I holed myself up in my room for 5 days and 4 nights, gathering, fixing, welding and fusing until all 6 fingers were stiff and bleeding (not a very honourable way to suffer, but bloodshed is bloodshed). On the 5th night, I unlocked my door for the first time that week to find the household silent. It must have been an extremely early hour, for even Master Jenny and Madame Vastra's room was silent.

Nevertheless, I proceeded downstairs to the death-site of the previous 'chandel-ear' and started my work of hoisting my own creation to the ceiling. Being a soldier of such skill, it was done within 5 minutes, which allowed me several well-earned hours of being in a passive, natural state of unconsciousness, known to humans as 'sleep'.

I decided to watch the Madame and boy's joyful reaction to my replacement from a distance, that morning. I chose the hollow space under the stairs as my location of invisibility.

It was one of those rare mornings where the boy wakes from the dormant state at the same time as the Madame, so they both appeared at the same time, strolling down the stairs, limbs entangled (I believe the term is 'arm-in-arm'). Madame Vastra stopped mid-step as my glorious creation fell upon her eyes, which soon attracted the boy's attention as well. The boy called for me.

"Straaaaax!"

"At your service, fellow comrade!" I boomed, darting out from my place and giving them both a salute. "And may I have the glory of obliterating you both on the field of war!"

The boy reconfigured his visual systems on his face—which he calls 'rolling your eyes'—and sighed.

"Yeah, g'mornin' Strax. Now, what the bloody 'ell is _that_?" He pointed at my chandel-ear with the last word, which prompted me to proudly list the functions of my new and upgraded chandel-ear through the stairway bars.

"That is my replacement chandel-ear. The previous one I obliterated had no uses other than decoration, so I decided to create another which is vastly more improved. It can automatically lay mines in a 50 foot radius, spontaneously generate a laser web with over 7500 PPI, launch over 9000 heat seeking missiles, fire 12 fully-automatic laser guns, drop approximately 18 grenades per second, electrocute anything within 70 yards, and all this activated purely through highly sensitive motion detecti-"

Upon reflection, I realise the last, grand sweep of my arm must have trespassed the outer borders of the motion detection radius, for all the glorious functions I just listed went off all at once.

Once the smoke had cleared, I was rather disappointed to see a lot of the functions needed tweaking. The heat-seeking missiles all collided with each other, I hadn't charged the electrocution pack and only one laser gun fired. Even then, it was only two shots which both hit the boy's shoulder. However, the laser web had activated, and the entire front entryway was cross-crossed with lethal, red lines. The area was also now just a sad-looking crater, all traces of flat floor gone. Wonderful!

Vastra turned from the boy to glower down at me.

"Your creation," she spat, "hurt Jenny." She jumped over the banister to land in front of me. "You will pay, miserable-"

With an almighty crash, my chandel-ear fell to the ground, the laser web flickering and dying with it. I dashed over to it, grateful for an excuse to avoid Madame (not that she's scary when she's angry. No, not at all), and the boy joined me, out of sheer curiosity, I think. He was clutching his injured shoulder and limping around my chandel-ear, a strange expression on his face.

"Strax," he said, stopping his circling. "What're these?"

I looked up to see the Madame and the boy staring at me expectantly. Really, for a 'detective' pair, I expected better from them.

"Why, they're ears, of course."

**Soldier's Footnotes:**_ I realise now that I should have built in cold-seeking missiles, in case the likes of Madame's species ever decide to invade the stronghold._

_What? I don't want-really? Human! I don't want to read this! Come back! ...Ugh, fine. The message reads: "Have a request or suggestion? Please let me know! Or, just drop a review. Thanks, Pipwolf."_

_Pathetic humans. Can't even carry their own messages. I wouldn't 'drop a review' if I were you, readers. Dropping a grenade is much more entertaining!_

_Strax, signing off._


	8. Duties of a Nurse

It was a rather bitter winter in the human year if 1893, and it took its toll on the boy one night while he and the Madame were out on a case.  
>They returned home unscathed that night, and decided to have their customary cup of 'tea'*, as they do after a success on the battlefield. After that, they retired upstairs, me inclusive, for the night.<br>All seemed normal until approximately 4:27 am, when I awoke to a desperate shaking of my shoulder. Needless to say, I was disgruntled with the interruption of energy restoration. However, I was curious; it was very unlike the Madame to even enter my room, never mind at this time.  
>"What it is? Is someone invading the household? Should I fetch my grenades?" I asked her, somewhat eagerly.<br>"No Strax, no grenades!" she replied with a hint of urgency and panic.  
>"Voltage mines then?"<br>"Strax, _silence_! It's...Jenny."  
>The Madame explained how the boy's breathing had become painful and laboured during the night, and she required a medical overview. It was a disgrace for me to have to help others, but I couldn't disobey direct orders from one of a higher rank.<br>Indeed, the boy was making strange wheezing noises, even for a human. My medical scanner (Madame demanded for me to keep it, not obliterate it) indicated that the boy had a bacterial infection of the chest, natively known as TB, or tuberculosis.  
>Unfortunately, my advanced medical knowledge came to the boy's aid. I scoured the house for the necessary ingredients for a temporary treatment. No help from Madame though, who remained by the boy's bedside, watching her like a worried child. There is a time and place for everything, and if she wanted to help the boy, she needed to help <em>me<em>.  
>Half an hour later, I had a weak anti-biotic loaded and ready in a syringe. Madame didn't really like the notion of an injection, but acquiesced. She seemed to wince as the needle was inserted, which still puzzles me now. Maybe Silurian nerve receptors are partially telepathic?<br>The Madame didn't sleep for the rest of the night. She was still by the boy's bedside when I arrived home from medical-supply-shopping that morning as well. She wasn't particularly happy when I assigned her the task of making a meal for the boy, as she seemed to fear for his health even more after a tired (and pained) consumption. The Madame did try and pawn off the task to me, but I had the very valid reason of being busy with concocting a treatment (that, and a miniscule understanding of the 'kitchen' functions. I've still yet to find the 'on' switch).  
>It was mid-afternoon before I had all the necessary doses prepared. The Madame still looked pained when the treatment was injected, and looked the same every injection time for the rest of the day.<br>Human recovery is terribly slow, and the boy was no exception. The Madame kept pestering me everyday if the treatment was taking effect, and by day 3 my patience with the reptile was wearing thin. Luckily, the boy had gained stable consciousness now and was a distraction to Madame's mind and energy.  
>Unfortunately, within a week, the boy was up and about again. I cannot stress enough how being a nurse is such a bitter punishment. The boy and the Madame do not perceive this the way I do though. During harpoon practice, the boy approached me.<br>"Strax?"  
>"Yes? What is it, boy?"<br>"...Thank you."  
>I still cannot decipher this strange mammal behaviour, but it seems it's not just limited to humans; Madame did something similar later on that day. It seems I have still much to learn about my position in this household.<p>

**Soldier's Footnotes:** _*A strange human beverage. It is basically dried leaves with hot water, sugar and milk. Milk is the primary excretion of Earth animals called 'cows'. Cows also produce other food-stuffs such as cheese, yoghurt, beef and leather. I can report that leather has the most interesting taste of all 'cow' products._

**Human Notes:**_ I'm sorry, I'm not about to research what's included in TB treatment. Just...use your imagination. Oh, and feel free to leave a review or suggestion. Both are appreciated!_


	9. The Medieval Catkind

Whilst I am familiar with guiding a horse by reins, being seated upon one wasn't my first choice of method of control. Nor was having one hand occupied with holding up a long wooden lance.

This report takes place on another planetary visit hosted by the Doctor. Yet again, I had failed to over-take this planet, which was occupied by human-sized beings, but furrier. A _lot_ furrier. In fact, they had an uncanny resemblance to London's native feline beings, called 'cats' (not as tasty as they look, I recall). The Doctor called these larger felines 'Catkind', and claimed he'd met this species before, rambling about some 'Brannigan' and 'Nurse Hame'. Pah, a fellow nurse. I hope he is ashamed of himself.

In combat, these 'Catkind' are admirably fierce, as they possess claws on their finger-tips. Hopefully, my cuts from these will heal into battle scars. If not, I may have to repeat the words 'fur rug' in public again to make sure there is a mark from this noteworthy species. Their tongues are just as sharp as well (more than a match for the boy, even), as they are quick to insult and assume. I don't know what it is about my appearance that causes species to persist in calling me a 'potato'. Perhaps the vegetables hold more honour than I initially thought?

The four of us got thrown into their primitive version of jail thanks to my brawl. However, the boy, the Doctor and Madame didn't seem to appreciate the opportunity as much as I did to destroy the planet's forces inside-out. Thankfully, the cell was large enough to run around to avoid the Madame's angry hand. Not that I was fleeing out of terror or anything.

While it was of no significant use to me, I thought it might have been important to record the conversation in that cell.

"Interesting," the Doctor had said. "We've travelled a bit further back than expected. Well, a _lot_ further back than expected. It seems we've caught them in the equivalent of the human Medieval Ages."

"And I thought our current time era was uncivilised," the Madame muttered, which the boy responded to with a strange sound ('Oi', or something of the likes) and a jab in the ribs. That was very bad—unrest within the ranks is one of the first steps to failure.

"I could try breakin' out, if y'want?" the boy offered, reaching within his mammal fur to produce a metal piece know as a 'hairpin'.

"No, that'll only make things worse. Besides, they've got the big clunky metal slidey locks, so there'll be no fancy pins to...unpin," the Doctor replied. "I say we wait it out and see what they want, there's no point _fighting_ your way out to prove innocence."

"I could destroy the door," I offered. The boy turned to me, fur fallen to shoulder height.  
>"With what?"<p>

"Grenades, of course!"

"And where are these grenades, exactly?" It was then I realised that all weaponry had been confiscated at the door, and I didn't reply. Especially when the boy was this agitated and had his fur down to make himself look somewhat bigger. Or was it his head itself that had grown? It's difficult to tell with these humans.

For the rest of the day, I suggested other means of escape, just for them all to be wearily turned down with a 'No Strax' every single time. It's like they weren't even making an effort! I mean, looking a Madame, she'd spent a substantial amount of time just 'playing' with the boy's fur, taking little or no interest in my suggestions.

"If you'd have told me we'd be over-ruled by a bunch of kittens back at home, I thought someone would've drugged your tea," the boy muttered, to which the Doctor responded to with an overly-complex explanation about this species _not_ being kittens. To be honest, I think everyone had lost the will to listen. Then again, I rarely have the will to listen to the pacifistic plans of 'Mr Holmes'.

We were forced to spend the night in the cell as well—the Doctor and I stayed awake to keep watch for disturbances whilst the Madame and the boy curled up together in a corner. How either of them can withstand such levels of intimacy is beyond me.

It seemed on this planet that there are two moons. I believe the Moonites have spread to all moons in the visible universe, and threaten to invade the planets they orbit, so I tried to convey this matter of urgency to the Doctor. Unfortunately, he did not take this warning very kindly, and threatened to get the memory worm to bite me (once he got the chance) if I didn't 'shut up'.

Morning came quicker than it did on Earth, and the doors could be heard bein unbolted from the other sides. I jumped to position while the Doctor woke Madame and the boy.

"You are under the power of the Greater Sontaran Empire! Surrender your women, children and intellectuals or expect to pay in blood!"

"Good luck with that, Sontaran," came the reply from the feline that had unbolted the door. He surveyed the four of us with his strange cat-eyes before calling over its shoulder.

"Two male, two female!" I looked around, confused.

"I am not a woman one!" I proclaimed indignantly. Nevertheless, two felines came in and pushed the Doctor and me out. Evidently, these cats cannot tell the difference between genders.

We were pushed in front of a larger cat who also inspected us. Perhaps he was the troop commander?

"One of you is to enter our jousting tournament this afternoon by means of punishment for public terrorism. You only have to win one match, but the stakes are high and you're against the planet's finest. The conditions are as follows: you are allowed one lance, and one lance only. This lance can be adapted in any way you choose from now until the tournament. You can strike any part of the opponent. You continue jousting until one of you die. Any volunteers?"

Ah, a duel! And to the death, as well! I stepped forward and volunteered, in the name of the Sontaran Empire, and was handed a 'lance' before being pushed back into the cell with all my previously confiscated ammunition.

"Try to escape and you all die on the spot," snarled a cat as the door slammed shut.

The Doctor explained the guidelines to the Madame and the boy as I started upgrading this given 'lance'. It was a very cumbersome weapon, and wasn't particularly well-balanced.

"Well, I do suppose Strax has had the most experience with horses out of the four of us," the Madame commented. I paused and looked up.

"What do horses have to do with this death-match?" The three of them looked at me strangely (I think the expression is called 'worried') before the boy spoke.

"Strax...do y'know what jousting is?" After considering this question, it dawned upon me that I didn't.

"Well, if these cat people can do it, it should be an easy task for the greatest warriors in the universe!" I reasoned, and started striking up a war-chant.

Three hours later, the atmosphere seemed to have changed to 'panicked'. Indeed, I'd only just understood the rules of this new sport of 'jousting', and had only made tiny adjustments to this 'lance' (just general steel reinforcements, electrical amplifiers, cushioned anti-explosive tips and an all-time favourite—serrated edges). Oh, and the tournament started in five minutes.

The boy had been fiddling with something for the entire time, and had only now decided to attempt to install it into the lance. Despite several demands, he refused to reveal its use, just repeating 'open it when you're desperate' instead. I suppose I trusted him enough to follow this order.

In the next ten minutes, I was pushed and pulled about more than I was when visiting the obnoxious tailor of London during his busiest hours. The cats were strapping their poor excuse of 'armour' on me and attempting to heft me onto a horse. As far as I could see, these horses are exactly the same as London horses, but they might not taste the same.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this report, I was not accustomed to guiding a horse from its back. It seemed to move without my command anyway. The lance was more of an issue, as it kept bending its will towards the planet's gravity field. Perhaps I should destroy the planet afterwards?

This horse indeed had a mind of its own, as it seemed to know where to stand and wait. On the other side of the jousting rail. Of course. The stadium we were placed in was full of the puny cat beings, all screaming in celebration, or 'cheering'. Madame, the boy and the Doctor were all forced to watch from the sidelines (good, force! A planet always has potential when the residents use force!). Whilst the other two were quieter than I am used to, the Doctor was shouting support, but seemingly to the horse.

"You'll be fine, Mildred!"

And here I was, thinking humans were strange.

My horse started trotting forward, and it soon escalated to a gallop. At least _these_ horses knew where to go (and at a satisfactory pace). I readied my lance, watching the opponent (most likely another cat) rapidly approaching me on their horse when I felt a sharp pain in my chest. Looking down, there was a bullet hole. Several now. And now even more. I glanced up to see the opponent's lance was hollow, and bullets were rapidly firing out. Try as I may, I couldn't aim my lance to strike them back, but I think my electrically charged lance did give the cat a bit of a shock. The next round came all too soon, as several more bullets impaled Sontaran flesh. I was right about this cat armour then—absolutely useless.

The fifth charge wielded better results. I managed to jab the cat's shoulder, and the lance exploded on impact. A fire promptly started on the fabric, and it felt good to turn around, charge and feel no more bullet holes forming. Needless to say, I was in intense pain, but I feared the injuries would not be fatal. They certainly weren't strong bullets, but more than enough to double me over on Mildred.

Round after round, this continued. No bullets, more fire and explosions, but neither of us suffering too greatly. In fact, it seemed the fire was doing next to no damage, so I attempted to land more shots on the head. However, I recall that my raised lance gave the opponent full access to my ribcage, which is where their lance impaled and stayed. The world swam in and out of focus, and all the bullet wounds seemed to become engulfed by this incredible pain weighing down my left side. Even the ringing cries of the crowd had started to fade into muffled silence.

When it seemed I would all but fall off Mildred, I remembered the boy's orders. Yes, death beckoned, but victory was much, much sweeter. I pulled off the lid of the compartment and inside lay...3 sherbet fancies. Grinning, I swallowed all three at once, and suddenly gained the illusion that I was in perfect working order. I yanked the lance from my side (wobbling a bit on Mildred, but still) just as my opponent made a grab for it. Oh no, a cat never bests a Sontaran warrior. I waited for Mildred to loop back around before carefully taking aim and preparing. At one metre away, I thrust both lances into the cat, one through the chest, the other through the head. Oh the blood! The fire! The roar of the crowd! The near-death experience! It had been years since I'd experienced this type of victory!

The cat-people refused to let me tend to my own wounds, so they decided to extract the bullets and stitch me up. Ugh, I feel infected. Remind me to take a bath in bleach when we arrive home again.

Back in the cell, the four of us were preparing to leave when the Madame asked the boy a question.

"Jenny, dear, just where did you get those sherbet fancies from?"  
>The boy just winked and sauntered out of the cell.<p>

**Soldier's Footnotes:** _The trigger words/requests used for this reports were: 'Kitty overlords' and 'Can Strax get asked to exterminate roaches? Or accidentally get into a joust in the medieval era?', submitted by the soldier 'spoon' and an anonymous comrade, respectively. May I meet you both on the fields of war where I shall obliterate you for the glory of the Sontarans!_

**Human Notes:**_ I can't say I'm super-pleased with this chapter. It's a bit like chapter 3, where it is a story, but...dull. How does Strax manage to live with such a boring perspective of everything? Oh, and to the mentioned anonymous, the cockroach idea will still be used!  
>Please let me know if you have requesttrigger word/suggestion/plum flavoured jellybeans!_


	10. Living-Space Invaders

I am pleased to announce that I have recently discovered an adversary of equal level to Rutans and Moonites. Cockroaches. I have a mild suspicion that these creatures are aliens, due to their extremely high rate of reproduction, the ability to resist a wide range of weaponry and their strange appearance.

Yesterday, I waged a minor war against them in the human room of food preparation. I fought valiantly, considering that it was one against, well, a lot (I suppose the boy was right about having the intellect and skill to count above 27 was important).

It had all started when I saw a spy trespassing upon our territory. I tried to guide it over a pressure mine, yet it was a crafty little being and escaped my control, into a crevice in the wall. I demanded that it come back on face me like a true warrior, but, alas, nothing. Instead, I decided that I should pursue the (rather admirable) survivor, so I widened the cockroach's escape crevice in the wall with nearby utensils so that I could reach inside. I felt its hard armoured shell slip under my digits, causing me to curse (in Sontaran, not the guttural language of these humans) its species to be forever damned to tread the battlefields of Sontar.

Not being one to submit, I further widened the gap with one of the boy's utensils (called a lay-del, I think) so I could fit my arm in. Try as I did, I had no luck. The critter continued to crawl out of my reach, mocking me with its strange 'antenna' appendages. Angered, I continued digging away at the wall until I could crawl in. Inside, it had all but disappeared into the darkness. Or that's what I thought had happened. What, in fact, had happened was that the one little spy had summoned more and more of its allies to try and swarm me in the darkness!

I am ashamed to report that I panicked. There I was, trapped in a small pocket in the wall with hundreds of puny soldiers invading my private space and riling up for an attack! I scrambled out of there as quickly as I could and launched all the grenades I had on-hand through the hole. Not wasting more time, I also retrieved a substantial amount of grenades from my collection upstairs as well as my laser gun for singular targets.

It took very little time to use up my grenades to try and obliterate the pests. After the smoke cleared, there were countless pieces of cockroach everywhere, like the confetti of war! Yes, ok, the wall was also now nearly non-existent, but I had single-handedly destroyed an invasion!

I heard the door click open, indicating that the Madame and the boy had arrived home from purchasing rations. Eager to show them my success, I rushed out to greet them and inform them of the victory, all the while pushing them towards the room of battle.

I will not disclose what happened next. I will only report that it has been one of my harshest punishments so far

After countless confrontations with these arthropods, I have concluded that they're definitely trying to conquer the household, and no matter what the consequences will be, the area must the cleansed of them. Therefore, perimeter marches and scouting sessions have to be increased threefold. Hopefully, the Madame and the boy will realise what dire situation they are caught in, and appreciate my efforts to keep our barracks uninfected.

**Soldier's Footnotes:** _With thanks to the same anonymous soldier that supplied to the last report. SONTAR-HA!_


	11. Code Red Enemy 3

"Strax, what're y'doing?"

I turned, my back still aching a bit from the case we'd just returned from.

"I believe I may have caught Frostworm from our excursion earlier tonight," I replied, determined to make sure the parasites' bodies were thoroughly charred.

"But is it really necessary to stick your foot _in _the fire?" the boy asked. Incompetent fool.

"Of course it is! The only treatment for Frostworm is incineration!" I spat back, irritated.

"Oh, and do you Sontarans usually have three toes, or did two burn off...?" he asked.

"We are cloned with three toes, brainless scum! Now are you finished with these insensitive questions, or will I have to dissect your tongue?" I scowled back, very clearly annoyed now.

"Watch how you talk to my wife Strax, or _your_ tongue will be the one that ends up misplaced," warned Madame Vastra without looking up from her book. Grumbling, I returned to my parasite issue.

Of course, the Doctor decided to intrude, as ever, during the most inconvenient times. By now, I've learnt to recognise the strange noise of his ship and not launch all ammunition at-hand towards the source. He usually landed his ship in the corner of the drawing room, but today, he decided it would be a good idea to land it _around_ us. I looked over to the boy and the Madame on the armchair (somehow managing to share the area without personal space qualms) looked excited by the intrusion, not sharing my thoughts of irritation.

"You, Mrs and Mrs Detective, need a break. _Fun_! Fun is what you need!" said the Doctor as he performed his strange ritual around the ship's console. "So, I'm taking _you_-" He threw a lever back, "-to a favourite spot of mine on Dalnoot. You'll love it, I'm sure."

Just when I'd gotten the hang of staying upright in the alarmingly insubordinate ship, I felt a very certain 'thud' under us. So where was this new world that was to be conquered?

"Intergalactic holiday, so it should be nice and quiet for you two. Just don't wreck anything, right? Manager was furious when he kept missing my visits last time to give me the enormous bill..." said the Doctor, seemingly forgetting I was also onboard. It was rather annoying how he kept whisking us away on his escapades, assuming we were free and constantly ready to invade and conquer.

"Uh, Doctor? Where...and when-" Madame smiled widely ('beamed' is the London terminology, I think) "-are we?" asked the boy. The Doctor turned towards the doors, also 'beaming'.

He flung open the doors, allowing an abnormally white stream of light enter his ship.

"Welcome to the third largest toy store in the world!" he proclaimed rather happily, which is not the attitude to put on when introducing the new planet to their future leader.

Only humans would exhaust their time, effort and resources into instruments of fun. Despite this, I was still curious on the exact nature of these 'toys', and proceeded to enter the toy barracks. Indeed, there were rows upon rows of oddly-shaped, colourful objects. There was never just one version of an object, but several clones of each instead. Ah, so it seems that these toys have already acknowledged the best form of number wielding is by cloning. Excellent, I can manipulate the army ranks to do my bidding.

The Doctor, Madame and the boy all ran off down an aisle, leaving me behind. No matter what the location, a soldier must do his duty, so, sighing, I proceeded to scout the perimeter of this building. The entire process was time-consuming, but it had to be done.

It seems the Doctor wasn't exaggerating when he claimed it was the third largest toy store. An hour later, And I'd only just passed my second corner. Along this wall was yet another enormous series of tall shelves with lines and lines of cloned warriors sitting upon them, ready for battle. I strode past them all, instead examining the strange patterns adorning the floor, trying to determine which red squiggle could potentially be the trigger key for a hidden trapdoor.

My peripheral vision caught an irregularity in the shelves, and I immediately stopped and pointed my gun. Hmm, it was a door, which explained there were no shelves in at spot. There was a large triangular sign bordered in black, with a strange black symbol in the centre. It consisted of a black, vertical line with a black square underneath. I furrowed my brow, trying to put my 'English' training sessions from the boy into use. The symbol itself looked like an English symbol, called 'letters', the 9th one called Eye, but upside-down. Below was an English word that spelt out 'Warning'. Ha! I've seen this sign so many times to know that the feeble humans' idea of danger is pathetic, and there is no actual threat behind marked doors of this kind.

I charged through the door with a cry of 'SONTAR-HA!' just to be met with a disappointing darkness. I had no means of lighting (all incendiary weapons had been left at base), but being a brave Sontaran warrior, I edged further inwards. Judging from the returning echoes and my outstretched arms, it was a relatively narrow corridor that went on for some distance.

I continued on like this for several more minutes, the rectangle of light behind me shrinking. The boy's voice echoed in my head: 'Curiosity kills the cat, Strax.' Ah, but curiosity isn't the _only _thing that kills the cat! He didn't appreciate this reasoning as much when I showed him my evidence. I don't know, maybe humans have a crippling weakness to liquefied feline.

Suddenly, a sharp, intense pain struck my bare foot. I staggered forward a little in agony, only for the same pain to inflict itself upon my other foot. With an impressive crash, I tumbled backwards onto the floor, the pain still echoing in my feet.

"Strax?"

I heard the Madame's voice, distant and echoed, and soon there were many footsteps rattling down the corridor.

"Strax, what 'appened?" I heard the boy ask above me.

"Don't move!" I ordered. "The floor is armed and dangerous!" There was a silence, and I saw the three of them exchange looks between them. I slowly got to my feet, wary of the pain that was mere inches away from me. The Doctor pulled a large light rod from his jacket, which made the boy widen his eyes in horror (or was it surprise? It's hard to tell on their strange little faces) and the Madame roll her eyes.

Now, I could see that the floor...was indeed armed. It had strange little cubes of various colours scattered around. Upon further inspection, some of these cubes were actually cuboids, and they all had strange, round bumps on the top. I picked a few up, and realised that these pain-bringers could slot together, one upon the other, depending on its size and how many bumps were on top.

"What are they?" Asked the boy as he crouched down to pick one up. I noted that Madame started forward to restrain him, but the Doctor stopped her with a subtle wave of his light rod.

"Lego bricks. One of the best inventions about. No-one topped it for _ages_, until...well..."

"Doctor, stop digressing. Are they _dangerous_?" asked the Madame. The Doctor stopped his ramblings to look up at the lizard mistress.

"No! Why would you say that? Completely harmless, unless you, uh...oh, you poor Straxy..."

"What? What's happened?" snapped the boy, his head shooting up.

"Looks like your nurse has stood on one. Or a few, judging by the size of his feet."

I took as many of the 'Legos' as I could back home, where I experimented further with them. It seems they were ineffective when the victim is wearing shoes, but if a few are scattered around a bedroom, it has the mixed effect of inflicting pain and arousing anger. The boy has made me promise never to do this again, no matter how effective.

My original plan was to craft short-distance teleportation mines. To beings of lesser intelligence, that means to teleport these Lego bricks from _within_ the mine _into_ the enemy's shoe, so there's no escaping their pain once it's entrapped within the tasty leather contraptions. However, the little bricks were as stubborn as they looked, and the plan was wholly unsuccessful. Instead, I've taken the honourable route to defeat and declared war on all Lego bricks throughout time and space. I repeat, Lego bricks are now code red, on par with Rutans and Moonites. May they quiver in their skins before the might of the Greater Sontaran Empire.

**Soldier's Footnotes:**_ I apologise sincerely for the delay in this new field report. We have gained a new leader at the educational base, who has been rather unforgiving with setting tasks outside working hours. _

**Human Notes:** _The prompts for this came from two anonymouses...anonymi? Ah, I don't know the plural. Anyway, they are as follows: "Maybe he could build mines that transport Legos into the enemy's shoe?" and "I think that Strax should step on a Lego and then declare war in the name of the Greater Sontaran Empire on all Legos."_

_Oh, and a note to Artdirector123, or anyone else interested. Your suggestion of Strax's weaponry withdrawal symptoms was trialled, and after several terrible drafts, I decided it was better as an image. Here's the link:_ post/78045569224/so-this-was-actually-meant-to-be-a-prompt-for-a


	12. Triple Digits

I've always wondered how humans and Silurians could live with 5 fingers. In my opinion, it's too many fingers to deal with at once. Why do you need all 5 anyway? 3 is a perfect number of fingers, and I can only find a few flaws with this logic in my position.

The boy has often asked me before how I live life with only 3 digits. I returned the question asking him how _he_ lived with 5 digits. He wasn't all that impressed at first, but then explained his question by saying that the Planet Earth was tailored to beings with 5 fingers.

To answer truthfully, it never really was a serious issue. All weapons, gadgets and what-not I equip are generally of Sontaran make (the best, naturally), and so I have no issues using them. Even human utensils and basic tools (the 'knife', 'ladle', 'pencil' and 'sledgehammer', to name a few) are easily usable. How humans and Silurians manage to fit 5 fingers around any of these if beyond me, though.

An issue that becomes more evident in the colder period of London (a time of orbit called 'winter') is my incompatibility with a certain hand garment called a 'glove'. All 'gloves' that are sold have 5 ends, where the fingers go. Not only are there too many finger-holders, they're also too small to house stronger, wider Sontaran digits. It is widely known to most races throughout the universe that the extremities are weak to the cold. Unfortunately, Sontarans are no different, and I once got struck down with a mild case of 'frostbite', a condition which slowly damages one's skin depending on the amount of time spent exposed to low temperatures. I forced to save myself with my medical know-how, but the conditions weren't serious enough to require immediate treatment. My point is, 3 fingered 'gloves' must be immediately manufactured, especially if a Sontaran war fleet is going to invade anytime soon. I suppose we Sontarans can't afford to lose any more fingers than wide-scale cloning has already given us.

During a trip to the future, I was introduced to a game held on a computer system. 'Minesweeper', it's called. It provides excellent tactical skill training in (generally) realistic situations, though the more difficult parts are to decide between one square and another in a 50/50 situation, and the beginning selection which can prove frustrating. Anyway, this game required me to perfect co-ordination between two of my fingers, which is much more difficult than it sounds.

Typing on human keyboards becomes difficult as well, seeing as the individual keys are three times as small as one of my digits. Again, this issue was discovered in the future. In fact, the future of the planet 'London' seems to be very anti-Sontaran, compared to the era that Madame, the boy and I reside in. Perhaps I should start drawing up plans to prevent the future ever happening? I'm sure that would prove beneficial to all, as I can't see these miserable humans becoming as great as we Sontarans any time soon.

**Soldier's Footnotes:** _So, as you can see, my main issue is not the number of digits, it's how large each one actually is. _

**Human's Notes:** _From an Anonymous request via Tumblr: "Or how strax struggles with only 3 fingers". I know, I know, the gaps between each chapter are growing, but I swear I haven't forgotten. Oh, and I actually went all-out with writing up this one. I tied up my fingers so I was constantly Star-Trek-saluting and went around the house, trying to live normally with 3 fingers. It's very entertaining. Everyone should try it at one point._


End file.
